


Arcadian Transformation

by afrakaday



Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Pan - Freeform, Syrinx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrakaday/pseuds/afrakaday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A remixed revisionist myth wherein Bill is a randy satyr and Laura a nubile acolyte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arcadian Transformation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In the Eye of the Beholder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/316155) by [ufp13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ufp13/pseuds/ufp13). 



“Laura.”

The sound of Bill’s voice nearly startles her out of her translucent skin. She hadn’t realized he was in the head with her, she'd been so wrapped up in her self-loathing evaluation.

Her despairing gaze meets his concerned one in the mirror, and Laura hates that he’s seeing her like this, seeing what she sees: a deathly pallor coloring papery skin stretched tightly across too-prominent bones; the greenish color, not of her dulled eyes but of the veins that until recently had been used as a means of coursing poison throughout her body. The poisons are gone now, so too the heartbreakingly brief euphoria that attended their retreat. She turns her eyes up to glare at the hideously bare skull, the wrinkled forehead lacking the eyebrows she used to make the effort of drawing on but hadn’t bothered with yet today. Her deepest loathing is directed to her aching, traitorous breasts, the left one marred and puckered with the evidence of futile efforts and poor prognoses. 

Her body is as much an empty husk as the nuclear wasteland they called Earth.

Laura’s face twists in pain and disgust as his hand tentatively finds her bare hip. “Leave me alone,” she says through clenched teeth, trying to turn from both his grip and the harsh reality reflected in the glass.

Undaunted, he slides his hand across her stomach and gently tugs her flush against him. his other hand strokes the skin of her arm, and he begins to drop feather-light kisses to the top of her skull. She considers fighting him to escape the prison of his love, but as she watches his unabashed display of unconditional affection, she realizes not only that she’s physically unable to resist even his light touch, but she really doesn’t want to. With a choked sob, she leans against him, lets him hold her up as the thick wool of his uniform scratches her delicate skin. She can’t deny that the sensations of pleasure and pleasurable pain are providing a welcome distraction from her desperate inspection. “Shhhh,” he croons against her ear. “It’s okay.”

It is definitely not _okay_ , she wants to scream -- at him, at her failing body -- but it would take too much out of her to make the effort. “I was just going to...” She waves helplessly toward the shower, the small pile of clothes on the floor beside it.

“And got distracted?” he guesses, raising an eyebrow at her in the mirror. He’s stroking her sides now, not letting his fingers call attention to any particular prominent rib, his light touch reassuring her and grounding her from the heights of panic. She nods.

“Oh, Laura.” His hands move across her stomach, down to the tops of her thighs, warming her and chasing off the ever-present chill that had insinuated itself deep in her bones with her first diloxan treatment and remained ever since. His fingers trail lightly over her mound, as bare and exposed to him as the rest of her, but he doesn’t linger there.

“Come back to bed. I want to tell you a story,” he says, spanning her narrow waist with his large hands. “Take your mind off things for a moment.” He leans in, his lips against her ear. “Will you let me do that for you?”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, then makes a weak effort at walking away from him and over to the shower. She doesn’t know what she needs. To get clean and dressed, she supposes. Colonial One, Quorum, Cylons, Lee, Zarek, blah blah blah frakking blah. She staggers slightly, but Bill, hands still hovering right near her hips, steadies her.

“Just for a few minutes, Laura.” 

She shrugs her shoulders into him -- _yes_ \-- and leans against him in defeat. He lifts her up into his arms and carries her to the rack, where he gently lays her down in her usual place. The outer half, she’s always taken the outside since the first time they made love on this narrow mattress, and all the subsequent times she’s fallen asleep here while he reads to her. He tucks himself behind her. He’d lost his tanks somewhere in the process of getting settled, and the warmth of his bare flesh burns against her back, painfully reminding her once more that she is so very cold, nude, and dying.

She tries to will the fear away, to focus instead on the font of strength behind her, but a tear escapes her eye anyway and dribbles down her cheek, onto his pillow. “Comfortable?” he asks her. She just barely nods, not quite ready to trust her voice with him yet.

“The story takes place in Arcadia,” he begins, stroking her arm with infinite tenderness, coaxing her into his world with lulling, loving words. “The ancients considered it a place of bucolic leisure, but also of primitive panic.”

She doesn’t say anything, but sighs softly as he lightly traces his fingers along the outer curve -- diminished and uneven -- of her left breast. “And Arcadia is inhabited by an occasionally wild, but mostly boring and responsible, faun named Pan, who also happens to be a god.”

He begins to describe a grove of trees beside a gently rolling river, the warm sun low in the sky as Pan looked over the view from the riverbank, sipping wine and quite pleased with himself but for the occasional bout of loneliness. Despite her annoyance at Bill’s intervention and her intention to wallow in despair, Laura finds her mind supplying an image of barrel-chested Pan, bowed legs ending in cloven hooves, pacing alongside the river.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

_Syrinx looked around as she shucked her tunic off and tossed it onto a warm rock on the riverbank. Something about the water was calling to her today, and she was only too happy to escape her sisters at the temple for a few stolen moments of solitude. Yes, a morning dip was just the thing to clear her mind._

_She pushed her long, flowing locks behind her shoulders and stuck a toe into the cool water. Her skin puckered at the contrast with the warm air before she took a deep breath and dove under._

_The water was fairly shallow, only reaching mid-thigh at the deepest point. Syrinx splashed around and allowed herself a few strong strokes into the current, then floated back down to where she had left her clothing._

_She wasn’t supposed to come here by herself, had been warned off by the priestesses at the temple that danger lurked in these seemingly serene woods surrounding the river. But Syrinx had never been one for convention. She was more disposed to the lifestyle of the river nymphs than the chaste and bloody-minded order of followers of Artemis._

_Syrinx knew she should get back to the temple soon. But as she happily stretched back into the lush grass of the riverbank, letting the sun wash over her and evaporate the droplets of water that collected across the soft curves of her body, she decided to indulge in her solitude just a while more._

_~ ~ ~_

_Pan watched, rapt, from behind the lush foliage of the trees’ ever-flowering branches. He could be quiet, very quiet, when he wanted to, and right now he wanted nothing more than to watch the beautiful sight stretched out along the river’s side, alone and oblivious to her surroundings._

_He wouldn’t have minded if she had bathed a while longer. He wished, as he watched her splash and swim, that his anatomy would allow him to do the same. But alas, Bill was not a proficient swimmer, and so he contented himself with watching the creature...for now._

 

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

“You slipped up,” Laura mutters into the quiet room after Bill takes a break to clear his throat. “Pan, not Bill.” She smiles despite herself at the not-displeasing image and reaches back to pat his thigh, making sure it is still just a man curled up behind her. He chuckles softly in response and lays his hand over hers.

“So I’m a nymph, then.” Laura rolls over to face Bill, feeling more engaged. “And you’re a dirty old goat.”

“A lonely faun who’s fallen in love at first sight,” he says, wrapping one of his entirely human legs around her lower body, pulling her closer.

“Hmmm. You sure didn’t love me at first sight. Or second, or third, or fourth for that matter,” she remembers.

“No, not at first. But I did think you were beautiful. Enchanting. Strong. Just like I do now.” He places a reverent kiss to her lips, as soft and full of longing as their first kiss, but now with the added imprimatur of a love acknowledged and reciprocated. She pulls away first and looks at him through watery eyes.

He shifts her on top of him, to maximize contact for him, warmth for her, and runs his wide hands across the ridged plain of her back. She relaxes into his touch and sighs against his cheek. “So tell me more about this nubile, unsuspecting water nymph. I think she’s helping me forget about my own hopeless case-- at least she managed to bathe.”

She can feel that he’s taken exception to her statement through his suddenly sensual touch as he sweeps his hand down to her hip so he can cup her ass. She’s surprised he’s even found flesh to hang on to. 

“Never give up hope, Laura,” he reminds her. “Pan didn’t.”

 

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

_Pan shifted anxiously behind the trees, his hooves scraping in the loosely packed loam as he watched her sleep in the sun._

_Her hair, a rich red streaked with shades of gold, was fanned out behind her head as it dried into wavy locks. He’d identified the moment she’d been taken by Hypnos into slumber by the even, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. The rhythm suited the sound of the wind across the reeds on the other side of the river, a sound he now knew he’d associate with her always._

_~ ~ ~_

_Syrinx began to stir, unsure at first where she was. The melodic yet discordant wail of windy reeds and whispering willows added to her disoriented state. She sat up slowly and took in the position of the sun in the sky, and realized she’d have some questions to answer to when she finally returned to the temple._

_Her eyes adjusted to the light, Helios’s radiance amplified by the reflection off the river. The wind died down for a moment and she ran her fingers through her nearly dry hair before standing up to retrieve her tunic._

_Before she could even pick up the sun-warmed garment, she stopped moving when the hairs stood up on her arms and the back of her neck and she realized she was being watched. Followers of the goddess of the hunt didn’t cower, so she stood up straight in a slow, deliberate motion. She placed her hands on her hips and projected her voice into the grove of trees. “Who’s there?” she said over the wind and the reeds. “Show yourself.”_

_~ ~ ~_

_Pan froze beneath the cover of a willow tree. He deduced that she must not be quite mortal, or at least have some omnipotent lineage, for he knew he hadn’t done anything to give himself away. Her tone and stance, proud and defiant, aroused him as much as her form had in soft repose._

_He stepped out from the tree into the clearing, and walked slowly toward where she stood on the riverbank._

_“I’ve been waiting for you,” Pan said by way of introduction._

 

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

“Really, Bill? She’s still naked and he just strides on out there?”

“I’m probably confusing him with me again,” he says, emitting a small groan when her hand slides down his chest and stomach, continuing as it slips under the waistband of his underwear. She can feel him responding as her hand roams and explores, but he manages to continue speaking anyway. “He’s enthralled. Smitten. What can he do but put himself out there for her and hope for the best?”

Laura snuggles against his chest and tentatively strokes his length, then whimpers as she attempts to push his pants down and off his hips until Bill willingly takes over the task. “So does she run home, or stick around for introductions?” she asks. “And also, does this aroused, excited faun have a little problem that might be frightening to this vulnerable young nymph? Or does he have a loincloth, or something?” She eyes Bill’s crotch and strokes him again before looking up at him, cow-eyed.

“She’s not as delicate as she looks,” he says, more confident than she feels as he pushes her onto her back so he can trail tiny kisses along her arms, collarbone, up and down her neck. His kisses and touch worship the thin wispy reeds of her ribs, the river-smoothed stone of her skull, the softly sloping embankments of her breasts and the striated channel between.

She reaches for his cock again but he intercepts her hand, bringing it and then the other one above her head and holding them there gently. For a moment Laura, closing her eyes, can sense the warmth coming off his body and believe it is from sunlight. She can hear a background noise of nature resisting Aeolus’s heaving breath instead of the steady drone coming from behind the bulkheads. She actually smells grass, feels the breeze blowing in hair that no longer exists. Amid all that sensation, she can feel her body responding to his.

“Go on, then,” she encourages him. She’s not sure whether she’s referring to his story, or his gentle exploration of her person with his lips and tongue. She realizes her lack of specificity doesn’t matter in the least, as he proceeds with both.

 

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

_Syrinx looked Pan over with a critical eye, not missing the enormous bulge between his haunches but not lingering on it, either. “How long have you been watching me?” she demands to know, reaching for her tunic._

_“Long enough to know that I never want you to cover your body or return to your temple,” he said, stepping closer to her. “You are my music, my sweetness, my light. You complete this place, and I need you, here with me.”_

_Syrinx calmly disregarded mild instinctive urges to cover herself or flee. No, her heart didn’t begin to race at his bold pronouncement; rather, it did once she looked into the faun’s deep blue eyes and knew that what she found there was_ home _._

_She’d heard of worse matches. Their children would be fully immortal._

_Abandoning her temple in favor of a randy faun, god or no, would earn her expulsion from her order, excommunication from her sisters in the temple. But Syrinx decided to follow her heart. It had brought her here in the first place, after all._

_“Yes,” she said, walking away from her clothing and into his space. “I am yours,” she said, and the die was cast._

 

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

“You are mine, and you are beautiful, and I love you,” Bill says as he looks into her eyes and begins to move within her.

“Yes,” she says, letting her lids fall shut and her body relax into his rhythm. She is Syrinx, healthy and whole and frakking a well-endowed satyr. _Wait...._

“Bill, I don’t think that’s how the story actually ends,” she says, breathless between light kisses and easy thrusts. Laura knows her history; Syrinx evaded Pan’s unwelcome advances with some help from the river nymphs, who transformed her into water reeds to preserve her chastity. Pan cut the reeds into pipes on which he played his lament for lost love.

“Yeah, but I like my version better. Don’t you? And it got us here,” he points out, quite reasonably.

She can’t argue with that, as a flash of guilt and pain washes over her with the remembrance of how he’d found her just a short while ago: a wisp of shivering self-loathing too immobilized by disease and desolation to even turn on the taps to his shower. And now, with his ridiculous revisionist myth and his gentle touch and his loving eyes, he has managed to make her feel vital, desirable, so that they can take this precious moment of indulgent leisure for themselves, here at the end of the line. 

But all people that have a history, have a paradise. Earth hadn't been the paradise they'd sought, but maybe there still was a place, somewhere, for them. And maybe ... maybe they were just beginning, she thinks, recalling the simplicity of Syrinx’s choice as Bill brings them both to completion.

“I love you,” she says as a soft shuddering orgasm rolls over her thrumming body.

“My heart,” he says in response, gathering her up in his arms and tucking the covers around them both. He brings her hand to the center of his chest, right over his scar, and for just a while longer they remain, despair tempered to a tentative hope by their love, in a mindspace of bucolic leisure and primitive panic.


End file.
